Made For You
by Legs
Summary: In agony, Rosalie turned and started slowly towards the edge of the precipice, her hands clenched in fists...They might not live through this. But she couldn’t ignore the noise or the smell or the sadness in knowing they were alone and dying...R
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: The Twilight series is the creative property of Stephenie Meyer. I do not own any of the characters. Any references or quotes from Meyer do not belong to me. This is a fan-based story. In this chapter, several lines come directly from **__**Eclipse**__**. Part of this chapter is sort of a development of what SM writes in Chapter 7 of **__**Eclipse**__**. It is not my intention to plagiarize. The lyrics in this chapter are from Cab Calloway and His Orchestra. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Author's Note: Thank you to all my readers, new and old! I love to hear what you're thinking as you read, so drop me a review and let me know! Notes on historical research, etc. at end of chapter. **_

_**Warning: Heavy content in first chapter. Anyone under 13, please use caution.**_

"_Weep not that the world changes—_

_Did it keep a stable, changeless state, _

_it were a cause indeed to weep."_

_-William Cullen Bryant_

It was April 29, 1933. A cold, overcast day. Edward sighed and pulled his hat farther down over his eyes. He had always disliked this stretch of Rochester - with its large overstated homes and wide, gleaming store windows, bright with things few could afford. Passing on the street, men who lived comfortably nodded in his direction but kept their distance, instinctively. Smart.

The ragged breathing and pulsing of a small heart came from behind him several feet.

"Hey! You! Someone stop that kid! He's got my wallet!" an angry voice called from down the street.

Edward debated for half a second, his eyebrows furrowing. A small smile touched his lips as he stepped deftly to the side, allowing a frightened eight-year-old boy to brush quickly by. Carlisle would have disapproved, Edward mused. Aiding and abetting a pick-pocket. But the boy's harried thoughts were dwelling so much on the hot meal he might eat tonight that the younger vampire couldn't bring himself to stretch a hand out and stop the child.

Behind him, the huffing and puffing of two large men, panting in pursuit, made him step aside again.

He crossed his fingers for the under-sized thief and his flight to safety.

A musical laugh quite close by made him turn to glance across the street.

"Well, of course, Charlene," a girlish voice chided. "But you know I simply can't. Even though," she added longingly, "Montgomery Ward's says it _is_ the height of fashion."

"Rosalie Hale," came an answering voice. "You know Royce would buy you anything you asked for." The girl who had spoken last turned and caught sight of Edward hurrying to reach the corner. She gave a little gasp.

Edward groaned silently and walked a little faster, trying to maintain the clumsy human rhythm of the people around him. He was no in mood to exchange pleasantries with _that _particular crowd.

He gritted his teeth together in frustration as he felt them cross the street towards him, two of them whispering in hushed tones. As if he couldn't hear them. He sighed again, dipping one hand into his high-waisted trousers in an effort to appear relaxed. There was no way he could escape now. The immodesty of their thoughts made him wince as their eyes trailed over him and he worked to keep his face smooth and unaffected.

Rosalie's voice was the loudest as she protested, "_Why_ do we have to speak to Edward Platt?" Little did she know he was asking a similar question.

"It's rude not to," Vera whispered back, blushing a little as she caught his gaze for a moment. Her mind was the most innocent of the four. He tried not to smile as she mentally compared his physical attributes with that of her husband's. She decided loyally that Edward was too pale to be as handsome as her good, kind Tommy, ruddy and tan from his days in the sun.

Edward smiled politely as they approached, tipping his hat formally. "Miss McCall, Miss Daniels, Mrs. Murphy, Miss Hale."

"Mr. Platt," Laura Daniels breathed. "How are you this afternoon?"

"I'm well, thank you. And yourself?"

The girl giggled, her face going scarlet. _How bizarre,_ Edward thought. "Oh, I'm…well."

"And your sister?" Vera asked.

"Quite well. Thank you for asking."

Rosalie yawned once deliberately, covering her shockingly red mouth with a dainty white glove as she did. "I'm sure we're all so pleased to hear dear Mrs. Cullen is doing well."

Edward let his amused eyes survey the girl for a moment. Rosalie Hale was tall with a slender figure accentuated to her advantage in a pale blue gown that fell in perfect silhouette about her hips. She was sporting a clearly brand new double-breasted jacket in a deep coral color. She fiddled absent-mindedly with one of the shiny brass buttons near her throat. Her pale golden hair was set in perfect waves around her face. Her skin was soft, pink, her round cheeks full and dimpled. Her eyes were a deep blue and framed by long, dark lashes. There was no denying it. She was exquisite. And she knew it. Her thoughts were full of resentment and jealousy as she stared back at him.

_There's no denying I look good enough to eat in this dress,_ Rosalie thought. _So why does that pill, Edward Platt look like he's about to burst out laughing? What does he have to be so smug about?_

The fact was, Rosalie knew exactly what he had to be so smug about. While reluctant to admit it, she was quite sure she had never laid eyes on anyone quite so beautiful before. Her eyes roamed his entire frame, taking in his well-made suit that could not disguise the muscular form beneath. This irked her and she frowned, sniffing once in dismissal.

"I'll be sure to pass on your warm wishes," Edward said, casting his golden eyes downwards. Rosalie knew she could never prove it but she was quite sure the beautiful boy was laughing at her.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Edward Platt, as he was currently going by, strode down the woodsy lane; tall, willow trees shading him on either side. Far from the prying public eye, he easily jumped the white picket fence. Going up the short walkway, he smiled as he heard the Cab Calloway's Orchestra playing on the gramophone inside.

As he stepped through the front door, Esme waved at him from the kitchen where she was kicking her heels up in the jitterbug.

"Edward, come dance with me!" She held out her hands, her feet flying back and forth. "I want to be perfect before Carlisle comes home."

Edward shook his head, unable to keep from grinning at her.

"Come on! I think I've almost got the turn!" she begged, her golden eyes flashing at him.

He sighed and snaked an arm around her waist, dipping her once before twirling her away from him.

"Oh, c'mon! Don't be a spoilsport!" Esme laughed. "Do the feet, too!"

Edward rolled his eyes, but turned his ankles slightly outwards as he made the passing turn with ease.

"Have you seen the cute and keen, baby sweet as a tangerine? That's my gal, Mezzanine!" Esme sang, pinching one of Edward's cheeks before she spun again. "Got blazin' eyes, like temptation, no more like 'em in creation; That's my gal, Mezzanine!" She looked at him expectantly.

"Oh, no…I think you're doing enough singing for the both of us. I don't even know how it goes."

Her soft, motherly eyes grew large with pleading.

Edward picked her up effortlessly, pulling her around his back and setting her down. He frowned, twisting slightly, shaking his head again in resignation, "She's the red hot mama from Bahama with the red hot cootchie-coo."

She squealed in delight, clapping her hands.

"Get sweet infection in the deep hot section, when that gal looks at you…" Edward sang, laughing sheepishly.

"I _knew_ you knew all the words!" Esme crowed in triumph.

"Yeah, well, don't tell Carlisle," Edward warned her and then softened. "I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time." The record ended and the song drifted to a stop.

Esme looked nervous, "I haven't danced in front of anyone for…years."

"It doesn't show," he assured her.

"Yes, but it's at the Mayor's. It's a very important event for Carlisle." Her face grew slightly anxious.

"I promise," Edward said.

"I still don't understand why you won't come with us," Esme sighed.

"You know parties aren't my forte."

"But Edward," she protested. "You're so charming and such a wonderful dancer. There'll be so many _people_ there!" Edward heard her unspoken thought…_so many girls there._

"All the more reason for me to stay at home," Edward told her darkly.

"You've adapted back to this way of life very quickly. I don't know why you think one night out would hurt."

"I know better than to put myself in the path of temptation," he said grimly. "Besides," he went on, shrugging, "I have a novel I'm reading."

Esme sniffed, straightening his collar, "Someday, the sun is going to come up and you will have run out of novels. Then maybe you'll have to consider the possibility that there might be something else out there for you…_someone_ else."

"I sincerely doubt that," he said, without a trace of bitterness.

"I think you're wrong about that, Edward," Esme smiled again, her eyes staring up lovingly at his eternally youthful face. "I think you're wrong."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

As she let herself out the gate in front of Vera and Tommy's, Rosalie pondered the evening. When little Henry had thrown his small, chubby arms around her neck and smacked her firmly on the lips with a sweet baby kiss, Rosalie felt her heart squeeze. Someday, very soon, she would have that, too.

She let her imagination go, painting a picture in her head in vivid watercolors. A little boy looking so much like Royce, dressed in a smart sailor's suit, his blue eyes bright with excitement as he chased his dog across the lawn. He would climb trees and fly kites and when he scraped his knee, he would come running to her and she would pull him into her arms and brush away the tears and the dirt. Royce Joseph King, Jr. And a little girl, her soft blonde hair in bouncing ringlets would rock her baby doll the way Rosalie had rocked her, crooning sweet, little lullabies. She would climb into her mother's lap and smooth her hair back with her tiny, dimpled hands. They would name her Patricia. Patricia Frances King. She imagined Royce with his arm around her waist, his handsome face soft with pride and admiration as he watched their children play. He would laugh gently and kiss her forehead, murmuring tender words in her ear. For some reason, this last image was the hardest to conjure up. Royce's face kept turning back into Tommy's.

An icy wind blew through the thin chiffon of her dress. She shivered, picking up the pace as she crossed St. Paul Street. Rosalie thought anxiously for a moment about the white linen tents her guests would dine in after the ceremony next week. Would they have to move inside if it rained? She sighed. It wouldn't be nearly as beautiful.

With surprise, Rosalie noted that all the street lamps had been turned on. She had not realized how late it had grown. The sidewalks appeared deserted. Up the street and one over, the sound of several raucous male voices could be heard. Rosalie regretted very much rejecting Tommy's offer to walk her home. She was just considering returning to Vera's when the loud group of men she had heard rounded the corner onto Andrews Street. There were five of them, stumbling slightly as they walked under the street lamps towards her.

She pulled her jacket tighter around her and lifting her head high, walked forward, her eyes straining to look past them.

"Rose!"

She knew that voice.

"Royce?" she called hopefully. Relief colored her voice. _It was only Royce and his friends. It was all going to be alright._

"Here's my Rose!" he shouted. She saw with surprise that he was drunk. They were all drunk. As they approached, she could smell the bittersweet scent of alcohol, whiskey maybe, or scotch. She used to sniff the decanters in her father's study, the smell often making her nose wrinkle. But it was not familiar or comforting as it had been then.

__The laughter was rude and made her feel uncomfortable.

"Royce, would you please walk me home?" Rosalie asked, shakily. "I realized I shouldn't be out alone after dark."

"You're late," he slurred. "We're cold. You've kept us waiting so long."

"I'm sure Father would be happy to have you stop in and get warm," Rosalie said. Her father would not be happy, at all, but she was anxious to get out of the dark. She was frightened now and longed for the comfort of her mother's parlor and her father's crinkly laugh eyes.

Royce ignored her request, pulling roughly on her arm. He gestured to his friend – a man she had met only once, the day before. "What did I tell you, John? Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?" He smiled at Rosalie and she tried to smile back. _He had complimented her, hadn't he? That was good of him. _

All the same, Rosalie didn't like the way the man John eyed her. Or Royce either. She felt embarrassed. "Royce," she murmured, trying not to make a scene. "Please…"

"It's hard to tell. She's all covered up."

She felt her face growing hot. Royce reached out and pulled roughly at her coral jacket, his present to her. There was a loud, ripping sound and Rosalie watched the beautiful buttons as they flew through the air. She gasped and pulled back, putting her arms around her nearly bare shoulders.

"Show him what you look like, Rose!"

Rosalie felt tears pricking her eyes. This was a Royce she had never seen before. Suddenly, he grabbed her hat, yanking it swiftly from her head. The pins tore at her hair. She bit back a small sob.

Someone grabbed her arm; in her growing confusion and panic, she could not see his face. She wrenched away from him. A fist hit her squarely across the mouth. She tasted something bitter and salty. Looking down at her dress, Rosalie noticed the angry, red drops dripping down the front of her gown. She stared, uncomprehending.

And then everything began to swim around her as if in slow motion. Every sound was far away, even her own voice as it pleaded. She felt herself being pushed down on the street. Cigar smoke and the stench of liquor filled her nostrils. She was dimly aware of their faces, though she tried not to focus on anything, tried to force her eyes to glaze over. And then there was pain. Searing, horrible, terrifying. So much pain that Rosalie wondered how she could still be breathing. She hoped vainly that she might faint from it. Humiliation and degradation swept through her and, though she lay quite still, the tears flowed freely down her cheeks, stinging her face where the wind burned it. As the minutes passed, Rosalie tried desperately to leave her own body, to go back to her beautiful watercolor painting. But the children in it had changed. They had grown distorted, blurred. Patricia looked like she was crying. Royce Jr. only stared blankly. And then…the dream children disappeared altogether.

Rosalie was not sure how much time had passed. Minutes…hours…but the voices of the men began to drift farther away from her. The most familiar voice was the last she heard, "I'll have to learn some patience first." She realized dully that Royce was answering some joke. She squinted her eyes into the darkness but could see nothing, not even the street lights now. She wondered vaguely if this was what it felt like to die. To lose the light.

Anguish pulsed through her limbs and torso. Every inch of her felt crushed. Once, she managed to turn her head for a moment and caught sight of her own blood, a pool of it near her head. There was no pain like this.

She did not bother to move again. Death would come and when it did, she would run into its arms, relieved at the mercy of it. To take her out of this dark, cold agony.

And then, though she had not heard a sound - perhaps that was the way death was…silent- icy fingers, gentle and probing were around her thin, bruised arms. A thick layer of fear coated her throat, keeping her from screaming. Had he come back…to hurt her again? But this touch was different. It was almost clinical in its approach.

She struggled to see into the blackness. There was a face, hard, white, startling. A shock of blond hair fell in his eyes as he worked over her but even so, Rosalie would have known him anywhere.

"Let me die," she moaned softly. "Just let me die."

Dr. Cullen's voice was pained as he answered her, "Miss Hale, I am going to help you."

"I don't want your help," she tried to spit out, but she couldn't seem to make her mouth move fully.

And then Rosalie felt her body leave the ground. _This is it,_ she thought grimly. _The end. Finally. _And then she was airborne. She had not imagined death would feel so much like…flying.

The earth flew under her until the very second that absolutely everything halted. She felt the cool hands moving over her again. This time, it seemed like there were more hands. She felt warm water and soft dressings touch her skin.

Someone muttered an oath as she cried in pain.

"I don't think she will live," Carlisle murmured to someone else. "She's lost too much blood."

There was a hiss and a door slamming.

The dim light above her seemed to fade in and out and Rosalie hoped fervently that the doctor was right. _Oh, God, let this be the end,_ she prayed.

She felt Dr. Cullen's cool breath on her ear as he spoke, "I am so sorry, Rosalie." And then there was a new pain, something Rosalie was not prepared for. It was like a tiny thousand swords had dug themselves into her throat. She screamed, tears of horror at this new agony. She felt the room thud and pulse around her as a slow, deep fire began to boil in her veins. She had been wrong before. There _was_ worse pain.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"You know it's the right thing," Esme said, her voice gentle as she looked at the hard lines in Edward's face.

He stood, leaning against the wall, hidden in the dark shadow of the staircase. The muscles in his jaw stood out, rigid. "So we want her to suffer _more_, is that it?"

"You heard Carlisle! She was too young! Too young to see the end of her days."

Edward shrugged callously, "Everyone has to die."

"Edward! How can you say that? You know what happened to her! You saw it in her mind!"

He didn't answer.

"You don't think she _deserves_ this?" Esme looked horrified.

His eyes flashed, "I never said that!"

"He's only doing what he thinks is right."

"Nothing we do is going to take away the pain," Edward said harshly. "I don't know why we don't just let her go. She doesn't want this."

A scream came from the other room and Esme flinched.

Edward shook his head, his voice seething, "This is barbaric." He bolted from the room, jumping lithely through the open window and into the night.

Esme watched him go, her doe eyes full of sadness.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_**Author's Note: Review and let me know what you think. For those of you who might be waiting for me to write Hush-A-Bye Baby, don't worry, it's coming! This story is only 6 or 7 chapters long and I wanted to write it first so I could take longer with the other one. **_

_**Regarding Research: Thanks to the Twilight Lexicon, , and many other helpful websites. I spent a good deal of time searching for period clothing, hairstyles, and street maps in order to write this. I believe it's reasonably accurate though I have yet to find which of these streets actually existed in 1933. This writing is based on a more modern map of downtown Rochester. If you have questions regarding anything, please let me know! **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: The Twilight series is the creative property of Stephenie Meyer. I do not own any of the characters. Any references or quotes from Meyer do not belong to me. This is a fan-based story. In this chapter, several lines come directly from **__**Eclipse**__**. Part of this chapter is sort of a development of what SM writes in Chapter 7 of **__**Eclipse**__**. It is not my intention to plagiarize. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Author's Note: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! It's always a pleasure to hear what you're thinking, so please continue to do so. Reviews jolt my creativity and help make me a better writer. **_

………………………………………………………………………………………………

_"What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?"_

_-William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing (I, i, 18)_

The sun was just kissing the treetops when Edward returned, his golden eyes lighter than before.

As he walked through the house, he tried to shut out the horrible screaming coming from the other room. He knew that screaming. Understood it. He had done his share. And he remembered Esme's transformation vividly; remembered the frightening intensity with which she had wished for death.

The sound died out for a moment. Though his voice was barely above a whisper, Edward could easily hear Carlisle on the other side of the door as he tended to Rosalie.

"This is what you are," he murmured. "This is what our family is. It will be difficult for you at first. But you can have a second chance, Rosalie. You can take back what was stolen from you."

Rosalie's breath came in gasps. The disbelief and horror coursing through her was echoed in Edward's mind. He gritted his teeth and pushed open the door.

Esme looked up from where she was kneeling, pressing a cold cloth to the girl's forehead. She smiled at him, hopefully.

Edward scowled at Carlisle who did not look up at his approach. The angry words tumbled from his mouth, "Carlisle, what were you _thinking_? _Rosalie Hale?_ Don't you think she's just a little recognizable?"

"It was too much waste, Edward," his father told him, his eyes sad.

Rosalie screamed again, the sound strangling in her throat as she fought Esme's cool hands holding her gently against the plush chaise lounge.

Carlisle brushed the hair out of Rosalie's face, "I am so sorry, child. I am so very sorry."

"Please," she begged, her eyes wild. "Please make it stop!"

"It will," Esme soothed her. "It will be over soon."

Rosalie looked at Edward, silently pleading for an end, for death. Her body convulsed violently, uncontrollably. The tenor of her mind was overflowing with suffering and suddenly, the boy couldn't take it anymore. This was not like the suffering of Esme. There was so much _more_. A lump rose in his throat and he backed out of the room, not stopping to think or speak.

"Edward!" Esme called alarmed.

He ran through the house, his arm splintering the wood paneling on the wall as he passed.

"Edward!"

He did not stop, but ran on, through the woods and over the river, until Esme's cries and Rosalie's pain were much too far away to hear.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

For Rosalie, it felt as if time had stopped. There was no moving forward, no change…only pain. Minutes turned into hours. One day and then another passed. Through the haze, she remembered what Carlisle said. _Three days._ Surely it had been three days. She wished she could ask but Dr. Cullen had left for the hospital and Mrs. Cullen for a Ladies Aid meeting. Both had promised to return soon. Rosalie was quite sure she couldn't take another hour of this kind of torture.

Another wave of nausea and fire swept through her and she drew a deep, ragged breath in, fighting the moan in her throat.

A breeze, light and sweet-smelling, distracted her. She turned her head on the sofa, wincing at the ache. The door had opened and Edward stood there, his handsome face conflicted as he swallowed once, looking down at her with something like irritation.

"I apologize for disturbing you," he said formally. "I just need a book."

Carlisle's study had been turned into a bedroom for Rosalie but ceiling-high bookshelves still lined the mahogany-colored walls.

She struggled to nod, the burning in her throat and behind her eyes almost unbearable.

Edward walked past her into the room, his eyes on a row of tomes near the heavily-draped window.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice sounding bored.

Rosalie deliberated for half a second before speaking, "Please."

Edward's hand froze in mid-air, his eyes still focused on the books over his head.

"Please," she said again, her voice shaking. "I can-cann-n-n-not do this anymore. If you c-care…at all…"

Edward turned slowly towards her, his expression pained. He had already heard the question phrased in her head.

"K-ki-ill me. Pl-pl-ease." She stretched a hand out towards him, trembling.

Edward shook his head.

"Please!" she begged again, feeling tears gathering behind her eyes. Strangely enough, they did not fall. They seemed trapped inside of her. She tried to push them out, the ache and burn of them bothering her more than before.

"You can't cry," Edward told her, his face twisting with misplaced humor. "You won't ever be able to cry again."

Rosalie opened her mouth and shut it again. Her face was white, all the blood seemingly drained from it.

"That's good," he went on, his eyes guarded. "That means it's almost over." He turned to go but the panic in Rosalie's thoughts made him pause in the doorway.

"Wait!" she said, her voice breaking. "Don't leave me."

Edward sighed and turned back to her.

"What's going to happen to me?" Her beautiful eyes were bright with fear. Edward noted with grim satisfaction that they were not blue anymore but a brilliant violet color.

Rosalie took his silence as reluctance. "Please. I…I want to know."

"The pain will become more intense…focused," he told her, unwillingly.

"Yes?"

"Shortly, your heart rate will speed up." He paused before going on, "And then it will stop."

As if on cue, Rosalie's breath grew more shallow, labored. Her body shook, wracked with an unseen fire. She screamed, digging her nails into the couch.

Willing himself to move, Edward sat at her head, pulling her roughly up to his chest. He braced himself as her entire being seized in his arms.

Rosalie screamed again, the tearless sobs coming quickly now. She grasped frantically at Edward, her fingers pulling at his collar. There was a ripping sound as she pulled an entire section of fabric off his shoulder.

Her long thin arms went around his neck, the wide sleeves of Esme's silk dressing gown falling back to reveal shoulders white as bone.

She buried her face in his side, shuddering as the change grew more and more pronounced.

Edward held her tightly, closing his eyes. His mouth formed a thin, hard line as she begged, "Please kill me! God, Edward, kill me!"

It would be soon now. Her breathing was becoming more and more pronounced. Gasp. Gasp. Gasp. Gasp gasp. Gasp gasp gasp gasp.

"I…" she said, terrified, turning her face up to his. "I don't want to die."

And then she was still, her eyes staring open, blank, empty…and a fiery red. Her body lay limp against him, lifeless. Edward was struck by a vaguely familiar feeling. Loss. _Strange._

It was another moment and then, a new kind of animation possessed the still form. Rosalie's pupils shifted and her body arched once.

Edward let go of her automatically.

Rosalie stood, as in a trance, looking about the room as if she had never seen it before.

She moved lithely, more gracefully than she had in life. Even Rosalie could feel that. Everything around her seemed to have slowed down. She could suddenly hear and see everything as if she had never used her ears or eyes before. Her gaze focused suddenly on a spider hanging suspended in the window sill, twenty feet away. She could see it now in its entirety, see its millions of tiny eyes, the hairs wrapped along each of its eight spindly legs, even the individual fibers of its silken thread.

The air around her felt thick, pointless. She realized with shock that she did not need it as she once had. She breathed in once just to be sure.

She was struck then by the slant of the setting sun through the window, its beam bouncing across the rug. She reached a white hand out into its warm, low rays. The diamonds issuing off her skin in bright, sharp prisms startled her. She whirled to stare at Edward who now stood, silent and unmoving, beside the door.

"Yes, my skin does that, too," he answered her unspoken thoughts.

But Rosalie was immediately distracted, her ear pricked at something she heard outside the walls of the house. A steady thud, a gentle pulsing of liquid under muscles and bone. She turned quickly. Too quickly.

"Be careful," Edward warned her. "You don't know your own…"

A stack of books flew off the shelf and across the room, slamming into the opposite wall. There was a cracking sound as the wood broke.

"Strength," Edward sighed.

Rosalie lifted her hands to her face, holding them quite close to herself, as if afraid of their power.

"You must learn to move slowly," Carlisle said, entering the room with small, quiet steps. "It will feel strange at first, as if you are walking through deep mud."

Esme was only a step or two behind.

Rosalie tensed slightly at their presence. She backed up several paces, as if to defend herself.

"It's alright, Rosalie. How are you feeling? It's difficult to get used to, I know. It's normal to feel afraid." Carlisle held up a hand to show he meant no harm.

She seemed to consider his words for a moment before another rushing, thudding noise moved outside the house. She breathed in, instinctively, and a small growl pushed its way through her lips. Surprised, she covered her mouth with her hands.

"That's normal, too," Edward said, amused.

But Rosalie wasn't listening anymore. She growled again, crouching, her hands moving around her throat as if something chafed there. Her red eyes seemed to pulse with the smells and sounds of the world outside. She looked at the three older vampires, her eyes wild and confused.

"You're thirsty," Carlisle explained.

She nodded.

"You need to hunt. Edward can show you."

Edward shot his father a puzzled look and then, as his father's thoughts became clear, the look turned from confusion to shock and embarrassment. His plan was all _too_ clear to Edward.

"Carlisle…" he muttered, his teeth grinding together.

Carlisle went on as if he hadn't heard him, "It's important that you learn to control your thirst in a way that doesn't hurt humans."

"Yes, Edward is a wonderful teacher," Esme said, encouragingly.

Rosalie looked uncertainly from face to face, finally resting on Edward's strained expression. "Edward…" she repeated, speaking for the first time. With surprise, she reached for her throat again. The musical sound was surprising, unexpected.

Edward was still looking at Carlisle, incredulously, "You can't be serious! This is some kind of aging vampire humor…some strange joke I'm not in on, correct?"

"Edward," Esme chided, motioning to Rosalie, who stood looking very lost.

The boy sighed, his eyes never leaving Carlisle's, "Fine. Keep up." He took off, streaking through the open door.

Rosalie bit her lip but followed him, her first steps hesitant. She was surprised to find that she was fast, almost as fast as Edward. A small flash of pride surged through her. She warmed at the feeling. It felt familiar.

And suddenly, she was out of doors, the dusky night falling quickly now like a purple blanket. She wondered if she should feel afraid of the darkness. She didn't.

Edward had disappeared in the trees but Rosalie found that she could, of all things, _smell_ him. He was quite easy to track.

When she made it to his side, he had frozen at the edge of a clearing, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, arms crossed over his chest. Rosalie noticed the tendons in his forearms stood out against the ivory of his skin. Standing there, so still…he could have been _made_ of ivory.

Suddenly, the burn in her throat was sharper. She turned, listening to a distant heartbeat. "I want that," she snarled.

"It's a deer," he told her.

Rosalie stared toward the thicket where she could smell hot blood churning through the animal's body. She tensed instinctively and then paused. She looked up at Edward, her eyes questioning.

He rolled his eyes. "Like this," he said, crouching beside her.

She mimicked him, ruby red lips pulled back to reveal gleaming white teeth. She was poised to leap when she caught a whiff of something else.

"Stop breathing," Edward ordered.

"Why?" Rosalie demanded.

"Because that's not an animal you're smelling."

The red in her eyes seemed to intensify, "But I want it."

"Of course you do. But you can't have it."

She glared, growling openly at him, "But I _want_ it."

"Yes. But that is _not_ a new hat. And I am _not_ your father," Edward looked impatient.

Rosalie straightened up to her full height. Edward did, too.

"Do you think you can stop me?" she challenged, her expression growing wild.

"Yes," he said calmly. "But I really don't want to have to."

She studied his expression for a moment and then relaxed her position. "Fine." And then she snarled and took a flying leap over Edward's head and toward the intoxicating smell.

Edward groaned inwardly as he whirled, seconds ahead of her and caught her leg mid-air. He threw her newly indestructible form to the ground, landing neatly over her. He tensed to anticipate her next move. "I can't let you do that."

"Why? You don't care what happens to me."

"You're right," he agreed. "But Carlisle will be angry if I left you kill someone on your first hunting trip."

"You hate me," she said. It was a not question.

"You hate _me_," he pointed out.

Rosalie shook her head, her blond curls framing her perfect face, "That's different. I hate everyone."

Edward's mouth twisted in a crooked smile.

The mouth-watering smell Rosalie had encountered hit her again and she struggled to escae.

"Oh, no, you don't," he said, dragging her backwards as she kicked and fought, knocking him down once or twice.

She finally managed to get to her feet. She turned on him, ready for a fight.

"Rosalie..." he warned.

With a swift kick, she sent him flying through the trees.

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_**Author's note: What do you guys think? Leave a review and let me know! Comments and suggestions always welcome.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: The Twilight series is the creative property of Stephenie Meyer. I do not own any of the characters. Any references or quotes from Meyer do not belong to me. This is a fan-based story. The basis of this comes from Rosalie's story in **__**Eclipse**__**. It is not my intention to plagiarize. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone for reviewing! I hope you enjoy Chapter 3. Drop me a line and let me know! I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter posted. It took awhile to write. **_

_**Soundtrack for the chapter: "Stardust" performed by Nat King Cole. I listened to it over and over while I was working on the second half of this chapter.**_

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"_I try to forget what happiness was, and when that don't work, I study the stars."_

_-Derek Walcott_

"I'm telling Carlisle!" Rosalie threw at him, her red mouth pulled down in a pout. She made an effort to stomp down the stairs, her body floating with her as she did. "Carlisle," she called angrily. "Edward is reading my mind again!"

"She started it," Edward protested, running a frustrated hand through his tousled hair.

Carlisle chuckled, not lifting his eyes from the book he was poring over, "You two are just going to have to learn to live with each other."

"I don't think that's possible," Rosalie hissed, as Edward slid down the banister, passing her easily.

"Fortunately," the doctor said, glancing up, amused, "You have all of eternity to figure it out."

"Till death do us part," Edward couldn't help but laugh.

"This is not funny, _Edward_," Rosalie shot a daggered look in his direction. "I don't want him to hear what I'm thinking!"

"Why? Are you thinking things you shouldn't?" Edward asked, his voice innocent.

She stared at him a moment, grateful that no blood would rush to her face to give her away. Except that Edward heard her silent thank-you and grinned

"Oooh!" she stomped her delicate foot down making the entire house shake slightly.

"Rosalie, be careful, dear," Esme called from the kitchen where she was arranging wildflowers. "This vase is an antique."

"Not that it's any of your business," Rosalie told him huffily. "But I am a lady and my mind is occupied with things of that nature _only_."

"Oh? Is that why you were imagining what Carlisle would look like with his shirt off?" Edward's smile was angelic.

Rosalie growled and launched herself at Edward, teeth bared. The two crashed to the floor, making the room vibrate again.

"Get off me, Rosalie!" Edward said, through clenched teeth.

Carlisle sighed, "Children, please. Take it out of doors. For Esme's sake and for mine."

It was May 17th, a Sunday. Three full weeks had passed since Rosalie had been brought into the Cullen household. Of course, Rosalie thought, time mattered very little now. The days melted into sleepless nights into more days and she wondered if this is how the rest of her existence would pass…one moment falling ceaselessly into another.

Carlisle and Esme were very patient with her, explaining things she did not understand and helping her manage the burning ache in her throat. She was, she decided, grateful to them. She felt a growing fondness for their doting. It reminded her, achingly, of her human parents. Parents she might never see again. The thought cut her deeply and so she pushed it away from her. Yes, Carlisle and Esme were good to her, kind, long-suffering, and loving.

_Edward_ was a different story. He seemed indifferent, even irritated by her presence. It annoyed her to find him even better-looking than she had when human, as if her eyesight had grown sharper. Occasionally, his deep golden-eyes would catch her staring at him in a way she knew couldn't be modest and his head would incline towards her slightly, his eyebrows raised disdainfully, as if he could hear her indecency. Imagine her chagrin when she discovered that, in fact, he _could_. It simply was not to be borne. Were not even her _thoughts_ her own?

But the more annoyed Rosalie grew, the more irritating Edward became. He seemed to take derisive pleasure in upsetting her.

Her thoughts broke off suddenly as she noted the smirk planted firmly across his face.

"Ugh!" She gave up, storming from the room.

"Edward," Carlisle warned, keeping his voice light and steady even as he kept his eyes on the page he was reading.

"What did I do?" Edward asked, stubbornly refusing to make eye contact with Carlisle.

The older of the two looked up with a worn expression to gaze at his son. Edward reluctantly turned towards him and relaxing his stance, sighed. "I'll…I'll try to be better."

"I know you will," Carlisle said, patting his shoulder.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The rest of the afternoon passed in relative calm. Edward had shut himself in his room and the sounds of Benny Goodman and His Orchestra trickled down the stairs into the dark living room. Carlisle and Esme had gone for a hunt. Rosalie suspected it was just so they could be alone.

So it was, at around midnight, she found herself sitting on the edge of the staircase in the pitch black, not bothering to turn on a lamp. Rosalie felt as though a great weight was pressing down on her, pinning her to the ground, preventing her from moving. It reminded her too much of that night three weeks ago when everything had changed.

Questions pounded the inside of her skull, begging to be answered. She sat back and allowed them to flow freely now. It did not matter that she had no answers, only more questions. Questions like…had he ever loved her? Would he have proposed without the pressure from their families to do so? Had he been thinking of hurting her like that before? Had he hurt someone else, another girl? More troubling, what had she done to make him behave that way? Had she said something, done something? Small voices, the ones that came in the hushed whispers of mothers in crowded parlors, told her that good girls were safe from this sort of thing. She thought, ashamed, of the vanity she had taken in modeling that pale blue gown in the store, on the street, in front of dozens of men. Had they wanted to hurt her, too? And then for some strange reason, she recalled Edward Platt, as she had known him, nodding his head politely in her direction that very afternoon. Had he heard what other men were thinking? Had he known this was coming? Rosalie felt a silent wail of anguish build in her lungs and knew she would never release it. What had she done? Ruined her hopes, dreams…the happiness of her parents. She wondered if they were still searching for her. Her dream children seemed very far away now. She could not even make out the dimples in their faces, could not remember what she had decided to name them.

She heard a noise, the slightest rustle in the upstairs hall and knew, instinctively, that it was Edward.

She stiffened, straightening herself on the stair and wiping the invisible tears from her cheeks. "What do you want?" she asked softly, afraid her voice might crack.

Edward sat on the stair above her, not speaking, as still as if he had been carved there a century ago.

"I said, 'What do you _want_, Edward?'" Rosalie repeated, through clenched teeth.

He began carefully, "I'm afraid I couldn't help…overhearing you."

Rosalie winced at that.

"I…I think you should know that…"  
"If you are about to spout some important wisdom about something you know _nothing_ about, then I advise you to shut your mouth and go back where you came from because I am not interested in hearing it."

Edward studied her face for a moment and sighed, "Alright. Let's go."

"What? Where?"

He looked annoyed, "Obviously, you're not going to cheer up on your own. There is nothing more irritating than a pouty vampire. Come along."

"I'm already in my dressing gown."

"No one will see you."

"What makes you think I'm interested in going _anywhere_ with _you_?" Rosalie's eyes were haughty.

He shrugged, "Fine. Stay here and sulk."

Edward was down the stairs and out into the night air before Rosalie sighed and followed after.

They ran in silence for several miles, Edward not sparing a glance in Rosalie's direction. She watched him uncertainly, her eyes wary.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

"What?" Rosalie said, putting on another burst of speed to match his stride.

He didn't answer but the smile grew.

"_What?_" she asked again, more frustrated.

"No."

"No _what_?" she asked, exasperated.

"No, I don't hate you," he said simply.

"Are you sure about that?" she muttered, gritting her teeth as she fought to keep up with him.

"Quite. Hate and annoyance are hardly the same thing."

Rosalie considered this as the ground continued to blur beneath them.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll see."

Rosalie was about to protest when they rounded a small grove of trees and a large white archway bearing a peeling sign appeared. _Seabreeze_, it read.

They slowed to a stop at the entrance and Rosalie felt her mouth open in surprise. "I've been here before."

Edward nodded, "With your family?"

"It's…it's been years."

Edward was already inside the park, easily vaulting the high gates.

"Edward, they're closed!" Rosalie was shocked.

He raised one eyebrow, leaning towards her from the other side of the iron gate. "And you're afraid because…?"

"What if someone sees us?"

"Alright. Stay here, then," Edward shrugged, shoving hands in his pockets and spinning on his heel to walk deeper into the park.

There was a thud as Rosalie landed neatly inside the gates. Edward didn't pause, strolling at a fairly human pace towards the dark shape of the carousel that loomed above them.

On either side of him, small boutiques lined the boardwalk, windows advertising any and everything. He barely glanced at them but paused when he felt Rosalie freeze behind him, her eyes on something in a storefront display. He did not have to turn to know what had caught her attention.

He turned anyway and walked back to where she stood, still as a statue before a small milliner's shop.

Reflected in the glass, Rosalie's beautiful, marble face was crumpled in pain and confusion. In the window hung a flowing, ivory wedding gown, its lacy sweetheart neckline ending in dainty capped sleeves. The gentle empire waist fell in droves of soft, sweeping lace and tulle, twisting into a long, full train. Along the edges of the dress, appliqué shimmered in white embroidery thread.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, pursing her red lips tightly together.

Edward didn't answer.

"I saw this same dress in _Marie Claire_ almost a year ago." Her words were dismissive but her voice was higher-pitched and slightly desperate.

Edward's eyes narrowed as he watched her face. Abruptly, his expression softened and he put a hand on her elbow. "Come on. We'll ride the carousel."

"This was supposed to be _my_ dress," Rosalie went on, as if she hadn't heard him. "I should have been married by now, happy...Mrs. Rosalie King." The words twisted bitterly inside her, knifing their way up to her throat and forming a lump there. The darkness of her last human memories thudded behind her eyes and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.

"They'll fade, you know."

Rosalie turned her head slightly to look at him but he was looking at the dress, his eyes dark with thought.

"What?"

"The memories," he said.

Flashes of her last night alive washed over her. _Royce's hot, unwelcome breath on her bare shoulders. The degrading laughter cutting the evening silence. The paralyzing fear and the pain…_"All of them?" she whispered aloud.

Edward nodded, "Eventually."

Rosalie looked back at the heartbreakingly beautiful dress in the window again, her eyes full of longing.

This time Edward grasped her arm firmly and pulled her away from the store. "I think it's time to ride the carousel now."

Rosalie let herself be dragged away from the shops and towards the large circle of painted animals, even allowed Edward to pick her up and set her side saddle on a faded blue horse with painted feather plumes in its mane. She did not even bother to watch him pick the lock on the ticket booth and start the ride.

The carousel's tune was dimly familiar to her and Rosalie hummed it now, leaning her golden head against the tall pole as it moved up and down mechanically.

"Hmm…hmmm…sometimes I wonder why I spend the lonely nights dreaming of a song…mmm…mmm…hmmm…mmm…And I am once again with you. When our love was new and mmm-hmm-mmm mmm-hmm-hmm…hmmm…But that was long ago, and…and…now…" her voice broke on the last lyric.

"And now my consolation is in the stardust of a song," Edward murmured musically, perched on the back of a painted wooden chariot a few feet from her.

The carousel turned slowly. With the whole park laid before her, Rosalie thought it seemed quite dream-like. The soft, sweet music, subdued for a carousel ride…The dark shadows falling among the groves of trees and picnic tables…Through the leaves, she caught sight of the enormous roller coaster that had always been her favorite as a girl. She loved the feeling it gave her, something like flying.

Beyond the last of the rides, she knew the lake was waiting, its dark, lapping waves drifting aimlessly through the bay. Her mother loved the lakefront. They would take their lunches and sit on the rocks closest to the deep, cold blue of the lake. The wind would sting their faces and Rosalie would turn her face towards it joyfully, opening her mouth to catch gasps of air after every gust, for those few moments not caring if her hair blew free of the bobby pins and curls. She relished the sensation of each breath as it was stolen away from her. It was like breathing in danger and excitement and freedom with each full gasp.

She stood up as the carousel drifted to a stop. "I want to stand out on the bay."

Edward didn't say anything but followed her as she ran out, through the midway, past the many rides and attractions and down onto the harbor's long, wooden dock.

When he reached her, Rosalie was standing on the wooden planks closest to the shore line, breathing deeply of the wet night air.

"Do you know how to swim?" Edward asked, eyeing the water's edge.

"Of course, I know how to swim," Rosalie's voice was sharp with irritation. Her parents had taken her to the beach often. Her mind lingered for a moment on the fuzzy human memory…_her father in a striped bathing suit, his arm around her mother, the picnic basket at their feet, the warm sun falling across her skin as she sunk her toes deep into the sand._ The sadness in this memory was wounding and Rosalie shook her head, frustrated, "Anyway, what does it matter? I wouldn't drown."

Edward didn't respond. He stared at her a moment, frowning, and pulled his shirt over his head.

"What…what are you doing?" she stammered, surprised.

He rolled his eyes, "I'm going swimming, Rosalie. What does it look like?"

"Where's your bathing suit?" she demanded.

"I don't have one," he said simply. "I don't swim in public."

"Well…_I'm_ public!"

"Have I offended you?" Edward frowned, looking for a moment as if he truly cared.

"Yes," Rosalie sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yes, you have." In truth, Rosalie had seen a catalog advertising a new French bathing suit for men that had no top, at all, and had not felt the least bit offended then. She had snuck several peeks at that page of the catalog before her mother had pronounced it "trash" and thrown it away. It was beside the point. This was not France and they were not in a catalog.

Edward gave a chuckle, a soft, kind sound, the hard lines of his face breaking into a smile that revealed brilliant white teeth, made brighter in the moonlight. Rosalie was startled, watching his whole body relax, his expression becoming carefree. He smirked in her direction and then leaned off the dock to dive smoothly into the lake. After several seconds, he appeared at the surface, his now soaked hair sticking to the sides of his face.

"You look like a drowned rat," Rosalie said, still standing on the edge of the dock and trying very hard to look bored.

Edward didn't answer but dove back underwater again, swimming deeper than before.

Rosalie frowned, shifting her weight from foot to foot for a moment. Curiosity overcame propriety and she reached for the silk sash of her gown. It felt strange not to shiver as the robe landed on the dock and she stood brazenly in only her pink satin nightgown, a present from Esme.

Edward's head popped out of the water again and Rosalie gasped, taking a step back and covering her bare shoulders hastily.

"Don't look at me!" she demanded, angrily.

He put a hand to his forehead in the shape of a visor, effectively shielding his face from view. But not before Rosalie caught the silent laugh in his eyes.

Before he could make a snide remark, Rosalie jumped feet first into the water, bracing herself for the cold. Oddly, the water felt almost warm against her agate skin. Unable to keep herself from force of habit, she plugged her nose and ducked her head under.

Edward dropped his hand from his eyes and drifted up to float on his back.

They were silent for several minutes. The sound of the water slapping against the rocky shore was lulling, comforting.

"Will you explain something to me?" Rosalie asked suddenly.

"Mmm?" Edward's eyes were closed.

"Why does Carlisle make you spend time with me? Does he really think I need a babysitter?"

Edward's expression became annoyed. "No, that's not it."

"Then what is it?"

He shook his head, "It's not important."

"I want to know," she insisted.

Edward sighed and focused his eyes on something far away as he answered, "Carlisle thinks…" He paused and shook his head. "Carlisle thinks that if you and I spend enough time together, we will…become…attracted to one another. It's ridiculous."

"_Attracted_ to each other? Like…like…" she sputtered.

"I'm surprised you didn't know," he shrugged.

"Attracted? To _you_? Ha! As though I would _ever_ be interested in _you_!" Rosalie laughed, trying hard to make her voice sound normal. There was the lump again and something new…a strange sensation that could have been mistaken for warmth…something like embarrassment.

"Likewise," Edward said, his eyes smoldering.

Something in his voice, the sense of dismissal, upset her. She struggled to work through the feeling, ignore it. She could not possibly feel…disappointed. She was…just surprised that he didn't find her attractive. Most men did.

Nearby, Edward snorted.

"I really wish you would stop that," Rosalie said, still fighting the strange ache in her chest. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not polite to eavesdrop?"

Edward considered this before answering, "I don't really remember."

"You…don't?"

"I told you. Human memories fade."

More silence.

"So…" Rosalie said, casually. "Out of curiosity, why exactly am I not good enough for you?" She fought to keep the hurt out of her voice but failed miserably.

Edward shrugged, "I guess no one's good enough for me. Just ask Esme." He grinned.

Rosalie frowned but nodded, as if she understood.

Edward flicked water into the cool night air, absent-mindedly.

"May I ask you something?" Rosalie asked, feeling suddenly foolish.

"You may."

"Earlier…you were going to tell me something. On the stairs." She looked down, feeling ashamed again, "What was it?"

"I was going to say, 'None of this is your fault.'"

She looked up quickly, surprised.

Edward's face was remote, but gentle.

"Oh." Rosalie turned her eyes to see where he was gazing. She did not know how long they stayed that way, watching the sun crawl up over the horizon.

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_**Author's note on research: A tremendous amount of research went into this chapter. Seabreeze is, in fact, a real amusement park in Irondequoit, quite close to Rochester. It was built in 1879 and is the 4**__**th**__** oldest amusement park in the United States. By the 1920's, it had a carousel, one of the largest salt swimming pools, and one of the country's first roller coasters, The Jack Rabbit. Thanks to many websites that contributed photographs and historical details. A concerted effort has been made to maintain historical integrity as much as possible. However, some artistic license has been taken to fill in the gaps and for plot purposes. All clothing described is from pictures and descriptions of 1930's fashion. The song "Stardust" was written by **__**Hoagy Carmichael in 1927.**__** The lyrics were written by Mitchell Parish in 1929. To my knowledge, it is the second most recorded song in history. **_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:**__** The Twilight series is the creative property of Stephenie Meyer. I do not own any of the characters. Any references or quotes from Meyer do not belong to me. This is a fan-based story. The basis of this comes from Rosalie's story in **__**Eclipse**__**. It is not my intention to plagiarize. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Author's Note: Thank you again to everyone for reviewing! I hope you enjoy **_

_**Chapter 4. Reviews are so appreciated and helpful to me.**_

_**Soundtrack for chapter: "Let Me Fall" by Josh Groban, "Die Die My Darling" by Metallica, and "Getting Away With Murder" by Papa Roach **_

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_If I must die, I will encounter death as a bride, and hug it in mine arms."_

_- William Shakespeare_

_No more tears now; I will think about revenge._

_-Mary, Queen of Scots_

Rosalie leapt easily from the third-story window, the wind rushing by her as she fell towards the ground. She landed noiselessly. The muffled screams of the dying man she left behind her echoed strangely in her ears making the nighttime around her seem very still and silent in comparison.

A familiar scent made her growl and freeze. She did not turn. "What are you doing here, Edward?"

Edward stepped out of the alley's shadows, his arms folded over his chest, eyes dark.

"Are you spying on me?" she hissed, crouching slightly lower and baring her teeth.

"Something like that," he said, not moving.

Rosalie straightened to her full height and tossed her long blond hair which flowed freely down her back. She turned to walk away. "Well, you're wasting your time. It's done. All four of them."

"You haven't found _him_, yet, _have_ you?"

Rosalie didn't answer but walked faster.

"It won't take away the pain, Rosalie."

She put her head down and gained in speed.

"Rosalie!"

She spun back to face him, "Don't you think I know that? If you think for one _minute_ that this…this…_burning_, this _ache_ will _ever_ go away, then you don't really know what I suffer, at all."

Edward took a step towards her, "This will hurt you more."

"Impossible," she whispered, backing away from him.

Edward shook his head, "Taking a human life…it won't help."

"But it _will_ hurt," Rosalie told him, with grim satisfaction.

"This is not what Carlisle saved you for. You're risking our family's safety!" He moved closer to her.

"Go away, Edward!"

"You'll leave us vulnerable to discovery." He reached out a hand for her.

"I don't care!" she screeched, pushing him, hard. Edward flew back and hit the building wall. Several bricks made a crumbling sound as they fell.

Suddenly Rosalie felt herself being thrown into the opposite wall. Edward's hands were planted roughly on her shoulders as he pinned her firmly against the brick and mortar. "Listen to me. You've done enough. Come home with me. Think of Esme, Carlisle…" His voice was pleading. "I know what it is to turn my back on my family. Don't make the same mistake."

Rosalie was shaking, her entire body pulsing with rage, "Get your hands off me."

"Rosalie, I'm begging you," Edward tried again.  
"Don't. Touch. Me." She planted one foot against his chest and shoved. Edward stumbled back for a moment.

She turned to run but he grabbed her arm as she did.

"Rosalie, wait."

She looked back at him, her black eyes wild with pain.

Edward stared at her for a moment, pursing his lips. He wore a conflicted expression. "At least let me help you," he said, finally.

"Why would you want to help me?"

"Because." And for the first time that night, his eyes held a trace of their usual humor. "Because, unfortunately, you are my sister."

Despite her anger, Rosalie felt a shock. Edward was annoyed by her. He found her to be frivolous, vain, irritating, petty. Why would he help her now?

"Carlisle changed you," Edward said, unwillingly. "He made you one of us. And Carlisle is my father in every way that matters. I am his son. I cannot reject you when he has taken you in."

"I don't need your help," Rosalie said, her voice softer. She felt oddly touched by his words, warmed slightly.

"What if I knew something that might?"

"Like what, for instance?"

"If I help you," Edward said slowly. "You must stop after Royce."

"What exactly do you know?"

"Promise me."

"I…I promise," she said, taken aback by the new edge in his voice.

Edward nodded, "I know where you can find Royce King."

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"It's nice to see the two of you getting along so well these days," Esme remarked cheerfully, iron pressing the blue cotton print curtains that she had sewn for the kitchen windows.

Rosalie looked up from the jigsaw puzzle she and Edward were piecing together, their heads bent close together over the long dining room table.

Edward rolled his eyes and fit another corner in place.

"Mmhmm," Rosalie murmured, glancing out the window again, willing the sun to set. It hung suspended just over the tree tops, as if it would never disappear from view but remain there, making her still chest squeeze and her muscles tense with anticipation. A few more minutes…maybe an hour…

Edward shot her a warning glance that reminded her to conceal her impatience from Esme and Carlisle.

"You know," Esme sighed, holding up the curtains to the light. "I really should have saved some of this fabric. It would have made a lovely dress. This blue would look so striking with Rosalie's hair, wouldn't it, Edward?"

Edward chuckled at Esme's ill-disguised attempt at matchmaking. "Yes," he grinned, elbowing Rosalie under the table. "Very striking."

She straightened and pulled her chair farther away from his. "Oh, never mind, Esme. Edward isn't all that observant, anyway."

"Yes, never mind, Esme," Edward said, smirking. "Rosalie doesn't notice anything that doesn't carry her own reflection."

"Now, now," Esme fretted. "Not when you were behaving so well just a moment ago!"

"It's a lovely evening," Carlisle commented, standing in the doorway. "Perhaps Edward and Rosalie would like to take a stroll."

This time the two younger vampires rolled their eyes simultaneously.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful," Esme said, clapping her hands.

Rosalie glanced out the window again. The sun had dipped completely behind the farthest pines.

Edward sighed and stood. "We won't be out late," he muttered, kissing Esme's cheek as he headed for the door.

"Oh, never mind that," Esme said, looking delighted. "You take as long as you like!"

Rosalie giggled, in spite of herself, and shaking her head, followed Edward from the room.

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"Are you sure he's here?" Rosalie stared up three stories to the large, dark window pane near the widow's walk.

Edward shook his head again, his eyes darting down the long, empty street. "I cannot believe you're wearing that."

Rosalie shook out the folds in the white satin skirt and glared at him, "I _said_, 'Are you sure he's—…"

"He's here," Edward said, unhappily, shoving his hands even deeper into the pockets of his trousers. "Rosalie…" he began and looked up at her.

Rosalie stood, looking up again at the towering building before her, blond hair flowing around her shoulders. The tight bodice of the wedding dress fell into long, soft free-falling fabric that trailed behind her.

Edward watched her slim, white figure, ghostly and frightening in the light of the street lamps, as she lifted the filmy, gossamer veil to rest at the crown of her golden head. She turned to face him expectantly, her pupils widening with anticipation, her full lips a furious red.

"Aren't you going to wish me luck?" she asked, sarcastically.

He frowned at her once and sighing, pulled the front of the lace veil down over her face. "Don't do this," he said, in one final attempt.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the building, "Through the window?"

"At the end of the hall, take a right. The last room on the left. No windows on that side."

She nodded and leaping, caught the edge of the gutter.

"He will be guarded. At least two," Edward warned.

Rosalie heaved herself onto the narrow walkway and pushed against the window glass. She sighed and clenching her hand into a fist, punched through once. She ducked through the opening and disappeared from view.

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_"Rosalie! Rosalie, where are you?" Mrs. Hale's voice floated across the lawn to where the little girl sat, under the sheltering branches of the large oak tree. _

_"I'm here, Mama!" she called, not moving._

_Mrs. Hale came tripping over the grass, her soft lilac-colored skirts lifted slightly away from the ground. "Rosalie Lillian Hale, what _are_ you doing?" _

_"Look what I found, Mama!" Rosalie said, dimples showing, as she lifted her cupped hands for her mother to see the large, fuzzy yellow and black insect perched vibrating against her thumb._

_"Rosalie, put that down right now!"_

_"Why? He's so beautiful!"_

_"Rosalie, that bumblebee is going to sting you. Now drop him!"_

_"He won't sting me," the little girl said, her blue eyes wide with surprise. "He loves me."_

_Her mother sighed, "Rosalie, please. You can't keep a bee. Let him fly away."_

_Rosalie's tiny face scrunched in disappointment and then anger. Her lips curling in a pout, she closed her tiny baby fist around the bee. A sharp, needle-pricking pain shot through her hand and she opened her palm, gasping. The bee buzzed stormily away, jerking through the air in tiny, insect death throes. _

_"He…he bit me!" Rosalie looked shocked. Her lips quivered slightly as tears began to pool in her eyes and run swiftly down her rosy cheeks. "Mama?" She lifted her arms and Mrs. Hale scooped her up quickly._

_"Mama, why did the bee sting me? I only wanted to keep him! It isn't fair!"_

_"He doesn't know any better. That's what bees do."_

_"I _hate_ him," Rosalie said, venomously. _

_"I don't imagine he cares for you much either," her mother chuckled, stroking her daughter's blond locks. "But don't fret. The bee got what was coming to him. See, when a bee stings someone, his stinger falls out and he dies. So there is justice in the world, after all." She smiled, putting a cool hand over the small sting on Rosalie's palm. _

_Rosalie nodded in satisfaction at the thought. "Good. He hurt me."_

_Mrs. Hale's eyes were grave. "Be careful, darling. You must not wish misfortune on those who have wronged you. Judgment is in the hands of God."_

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Tonight judgment would be in _her_ hands, Rosalie thought, walking silently down the long hall. Her white train dragged behind her, bits of broken glass from the window trailing with it.

Behind the doors she passed, she could hear lungs opening and closing with deep, even breaths, could smell the sweet, hot scent of blood pumping through veins and arteries and pounding hearts. But she was not interested in any of these sleeping people. As she rounded the corner, the heartbeats she heard quickened, the breathing became erratic. There, against the door, a man sat, his eyes darting towards the noise and catching sight of her in the gloom. He stood, his hands shaking as he reached for something in his vest pocket. A pistol, probably. Rosalie smiled coldly and reaching hands out, snapped his neck easily, quickly. He did not have time to feel it, to register death's fingers as they claimed him.

She reached for the heavy door handle. Locked. Expressionless, she flicked her wrist once. The handle fell off and the door flew open.

A large, windowless bedroom lay before her. The room was decorated in the height of fashion. Beautifully painted paper lined the walls. Polished mahogany wood baseboards matched the exquisite furnishings. Rich, plush with heavy frames. On the floor was an enormous bear skin rug.

There was a terrified shriek as she turned to stare at Royce King, sitting in the middle of the giant bed, his back pressed against the carved headboard, his striped robe wound tightly around his shivering body.

Rosalie smiled angelically, the very picture of a bride. "Hello, Royce."

Royce's eyes were wide with fear and his voice shook when he spoke. "Who…who are you?" he demanded, his voice higher than she remembered. "And what are you doing in my room?"

"Aren't you happy to see me, Royce?" Rosalie asked, her voice dangerously warm. She walked forward a step.

A body guard who had been snoozing on the couch now stood and fumbled with his gun.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she smiled at him.

The guard swallowed hard as he stared back and forth between his employer and the beautiful intruder.

"What are you waiting for?" Royce asked, gritting his teeth. "_Shoot_ her!"

There was a loud bang as the pistol erupted. There was a strange shredding sound as the small metal bullet hit Rosalie's hard skin and shattered, landing in a pile of dust at her feet.

"These days I seem to be a little less…fragile," Rosalie said, lifting the veil over her head.

The guard was already striding across the room, practically running for the door but Rosalie was beside him in an instant. Throwing him to the ground on his stomach, she put one foot at the base of his neck and pushed. There was a popping, crunching sound and then the man lay still.

Rosalie turned back to Royce, her beautiful red mouth curving into a sensual smile. "Alone, at last." She walked towards the edge of the bed, slowly, her eyes brimming with excitement.

Royce's expression was horrified.

She laughed softly, "You know, this is how I imagined our wedding night. Just the two of us in a beautiful bedroom. All alone."

She climbed easily over the baseboard and crawled across the bed until Royce was mere inches from her. "And I would have given myself to you," she whispered, her icy breath on his skin. "Just you."

Royce King was absolutely paralyzed with fear. He tried to swallow as he shook involuntarily, "You can't…be _her_. She's…she's dead."

Rosalie's smile faded, "You're right. Rosalie Hale is dead. Abused, ruined, dead. And when I am done with you, you are going to wish she wasn't. You will wish you had never touched her. You will plead and you will cry and you will suffer. You will beg for me to end your life." The red in her eyes had been entirely replaced by a fiery black color. "Because the pain I give to you tonight will be so much greater than any you could _ever_ give to me."

Royce's face, ashen with terror, suddenly looked very small, very human. Rosalie felt a second of pity for the fate that awaited him. The next second, a deep, searing rage burned through her and any sympathy she felt was swept away in an instant.

She smiled again, glad that the tears inside of her would never fall. As her hands moved towards him and he screamed again, Rosalie clenched her teeth and let the darkness swallow them both.

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_**Author's Note: Thoughts? Review and let me know! **_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:**__** The Twilight series is the creative property of Stephenie Meyer. I do not own any of the characters. Any references or quotes from Meyer do not belong to me. This is a fan-based story. The basis of this comes from Rosalie's story in **_**Eclipse.**_** All lines/plot notes connected to the film **_**King Kong**_** are borrowed here and not my property. The last line is from the movie **_**I'm No Angel**_** starring Mae West. It is not my intention to plagiarize. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Author's Note: Another huge thank-you to everyone who reviewed! It is much appreciated, as always. A very special thank you to aPPle-frEAk for her inspirational review. She poked my muse with a stick and he finally woke up and decided to do his job. **_

_**Correction: In Chapter Four, I had originally said that Rosalie's middle name was Emmeline. However, upon rereading the Twilight Lexicon, I found that her middle name is, in fact, Lillian. I have made this correction in the last chapter. **_

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_"And lo, the beast looked upon the face of beauty, and beauty stayed his hand. _

_And from that day forward, he was as one dead."_

_-King Kong (2005)_

"I can't wear this!" Rosalie exclaimed, staring incredulously into the mirror.

Edward didn't answer but stood behind her, deftly straightening the cummerbund of his tuxedo.

She turned, her eyes horrified as she stared up at him. "Edward! Are you listening to me?"

"As if I had a _choice_," he muttered, tugging on the edge of the short auburn wig pulled over Rosalie's ordinarily blond hair.

"It looks like a tabby cat died on my head!"

He shrugged, "You're the one who wanted to get out of the house."

"But red? It had to be _red_?"

"And what exactly is _wrong_ with red hair?" Edward asked, beginning to look offended.

Rosalie wrinkled her nose as she peered into the mirror again. "Your hair isn't really red. It's…more brown. And anyway, no one would recognize me in New York."

"It's ten to six. Are you going to dress or are you leaving the house like that?"

Rosalie stomped huffily behind the faded print dressing screen, only the top of her head visible as she shimmied out of her blouse and high-waisted tweed trousers.

A rich, honeyed voice floating from the gramophone made her pause in her struggle with her evening gown. _"In my solitude, you haunt me with reveries of days gone by…in my solitude…I'm praying…"_

"Who is this?" she asked.

"Billie Holiday," Edward said, shrugging on his black dinner jacket. "Are you almost ready?"

"Her name is Billie?"

"It's a very unusual record, isn't it?"

_"Filled with despair…there's no one could be so sad…with gloom everywhere…I sit and I stare. I know that I'll soon go mad…in my solitude.."_

Rosalie frowned, "Yes. Unusual." She began tugging at the back of her dress, a little more impatient than usual. After several moments of grunting and pulling, she sighed and came around the screen. "Will you please fasten the back?"

Edward's eyes flitted over her figure, accentuated in the crushed black velvet gown that wrapped snugly around her hips and dipping down, kissed the floor with its hem. He pursed his lips, a small furrow building between his eyebrows.

Rosalie fought the urge to duck her head self-consciously at his strange, puzzled stare. _What on earth did he have to be confused about? She was ravishing in this gown_. She was quite sure of it.

As soon as the frustrated thoughts occurred to her, she regretted them. Edward's expression twisted in devilish humor as he shook his head. "You are, by far, the vainest woman I have ever known."

"It's not vain if it's true," she said, haughtily, turning around to face the mirror.

She felt Edward's fingers brush her shoulder as he reached for the tiny silver hooks near the small of her back. His touch reminded her…She recalled Edward's words about Carlisle and Esme, their expectations, their hopes for the two of them. She tried to imagine turning to Edward now and clasping him in her arms, even pressing her lips to his. The image felt empty…strange. She was conscious of his closeness, of his skin touching her skin. Conscious and yet…she frowned again. Perhaps, confusion _was_ understandable, after all.

If Edward was listening to her thoughts, he made no more mention of it.

"There," he said, as the last hook wound around the small loop of thread.

Rosalie craned her neck to stare once at the bareness of her shoulder blade, her arms barely covered by the thin, black sleeves that widened in flowery layers of chiffon and stopped just short of her elbows. This dress suddenly reminded her of her sixteenth birthday. She had been the most beautiful thing at that beautiful party. An old sensation of pleasure shot through her. She was still the most beautiful thing. At that party, at any party.

"How do I look?" she asked, looking up at him from under thick, dark lashes.

The odd, perplexed look had come back in his eyes. He looked as if some unspoken question had gone unanswered.

"Edward?" Rosalie felt the confidence that had sprung up in her wane slightly.

"Hmmm?"

"Do I look alright?"

"You look magnificent," Carlisle said, smiling in the doorway. His face was full of meaning as he caught Edward's gaze.

"Magnificent," Edward echoed, woodenly. His eyes were on something far away, as if trying to sound out a difficult word or decipher some hidden meaning.

Esme appeared behind Carlisle. She was radiant in a soft pink gown that crisscrossed at her bosom, deep rouching running along the edges of her neck.

"Shall we go?" she smiled, pulling gently on her husband's elbow.

Edward held his arm out absent-mindedly for Rosalie. She frowned and linked their arms. The two followed Esme and Carlisle out of the room.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Have you been to Radio City, Rosalie?" Esme asked, turning to look into the back seat of the sedan. Her golden eyes shone with excitement.

Rosalie shook her head, shifting her weight on the leather upholstery.

Beside her, Edward sat staring out the window watching the city lights grow closer as they approached the edge of New York City.

"Oh, you will just love it! Carlisle took me in January to see…what was that film, dear?"

"_The Bitter Tea of General Yen_," Carlisle said, his eyes on the road ahead.

"It's new, isn't it?" Rosalie asked, smoothing her mink coat at the hemline.

"The music hall? Yes," Esme smiled. "It's enormous inside. Red velvet seats and a giant stage. It just seems to go on forever! Didn't you think so, Edward?"

"Hmm?" Edward looked up, uncharacteristically not paying attention.

"Radio City. It's enormous, isn't it?" Esme repeated, looking slightly surprised at his distraction.

"It _is_ big," he agreed, again looking out the small back window of the car.

Esme bit her lip worriedly, her eyes darting between the two of them. She said nothing else.

As they grew closer to the movie palace, the streets grew more and more crowded. Several passing motorists honked at one another. On the broad sidewalks, hundreds of pedestrians jostled one another in the growing dusk.

Rosalie felt the usual burning inside of her increase, lighting a new fire that ran to the pit of her stomach. Small pools of venom flowed in her mouth. She reached up a hand to massage her white throat, willing the ache to disappear. Outside the car, the sound of blood churning in the veins of thousands made her slightly giddy. She felt her muscles tense as a woman walked by, mere feet from the sedan door. Suddenly, it all seemed like too much to handle. She swallowed hard and fought to keep from shoving past Edward and out into the night full of warm-blooded meals.

"Try not to breathe," Carlisle said, not bothering to turn to look at her as he maneuvered the car toward the valet. "It will make it easier."

Rosalie felt Edward's eyes on her in the darkened cab and turned to catch his gaze. He stared back at her and his expression told her that no matter how much she had longed for this night, it would be anything but easy.

"You have nothing to worry about," Esme said, confidently. "We are all here with you. Isn't that right, Carlisle?"

Carlisle smiled in his wife's direction and cast his eyes on Rosalie's panicked face, "You mustn't worry. You'll be perfectly safe."

"I'm not worried about _me_," Rosalie said.

Carlisle and Esme laughed together.

Esme patted her knee, "I was worried on my first evening out, as well. You'll grow accustomed to it."

"What if I hurt someone?" she asked, balling her hands into fists.

"You haven't hurt anyone, yet, have you?" Esme said. "You're doing remarkably!"

Edward made a small noise in his throat that might have gone unnoticed if Rosalie hadn't been listening for it. It sounded very much like a snort. And yet, it lacked his ordinary edge of derision. He still seemed lost in thought when the valet stepped efficiently to the curb and opened the side door. Stepping neatly out, Edward turned and offered his hand to Rosalie.

As she exited the car, a wave of nausea hit her. Her mouth watered and her leg muscles tightened, ready to spring. A long red velvet rope stretched down the sidewalk in front of an enormous marquis that read: _Radio City Music Hall Presents…King Kong on the Silver Screen, Starring Fay Wray, Robert Armstrong, and Bruce Cabot._

Behind the rope stood hundreds of people, some with binoculars, others waving small autograph books. A large flashbulb went off nearby.

Rosalie looked down self-consciously and noted that the small amount of skin exposed between the edge of her gloves and the beginning of her fur coat was glittering.

She almost turned and ran back to the car but felt a reassuring squeeze of her fingers and looked up at Edward. He was looking past the crowd of cheering fans to the large, glass door entrance and the waiting doorman. He tugged once on his fedora, pulling it lower to avoid the flashes of light from the camera. Even so, the right side of his face caught the light and sparkled strangely. No one around them seemed to notice. Rosalie didn't suppose they would.

There was so much commotion and most of it seemed to be focused on the other side of the entrance where a long Rolls Royce had pulled up. Rosalie dimly recognized one of the men who had stepped from the car. _An actor she had seen in something…what was it?_

Edward put a firm hand at the small of her back and guided her towards the edge of the rope. An enthusiastic girl waving a publicity of photo of some starlet leaned close to Rosalie as she passed. She felt a predatory snarl catch in her throat. Edward held tightly to Rosalie, reminding her to continue walking.

Again, no one seemed to notice the Cullens, beautiful and pale as they were. The screaming and shoving continued as people fought to catch a glimpse of their favorite star.

Carlisle smiled, nodding politely at several well-dressed people entering the theater. On his arm, Esme radiated happiness and relaxation. Rosalie envied her.

Inside the music hall, the cloakroom attendant stood waiting. Wordlessly, Edward lifted Rosalie's wrap from her shoulders and handed it to the man who bowed slightly before disappearing with their things.

Nearby, someone lit a cigarette. In her human life, tobacco smoke had bothered Rosalie. She had an embarrassing tendency to cough and draw attention to herself. So while most of her female counterparts had adopted the fashionable habit, she had abstained. Her new lack of need for oxygen made her wonder, though. She had often pretended to smoke, alone in her bedroom, wishing desperately to be as up-to-date as the other girls in her circle. She wasn't sure she would enjoy it much now.

Looking around her at the elegant lobby interior, Rosalie grew curious. How was it that an ordinary, by all appearances, doctor like Carlisle kept this sort of company? In Rochester, the Cullens were known as a modest couple, preferring to spend the quiet evenings in their country home and avoiding most social events. This night put any Rochester soiree to shame.

"Carlisle acted as Fay Wray's personal physician on the set of her last film," Edward murmured, leaning casually against a tall marble pillar. "He often receives invitations to her premieres, though he seldom attends."

A tinkling laugh made Rosalie glance up. A statuesque brunette in an off-the-shoulder gown stood near Carlisle and Esme, her head thrown back in delight at something the doctor had said. As before, Rosalie recognized the woman as an actress…she had seen her in a thriller. Some film Royce was all hot and bothered by. _Royce…_She smiled grimly, looking again at Fay Wray from under hooded lashes.

Again, she felt Edward's gaze. She turned towards him and frowned at his still confused stare, his eyes focusing on the details of her face as if trying to memorize them, understand them. "Is something wrong?"

Edward shook his head, lips pursed firmly together, "No. Nothing."

She stared back a moment before speaking, "I don't believe you."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged, following an usher into the theater.

Rosalie bit down on her tongue, hard, and followed him.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………....

_"And now, ladies and gentlemen, before I tell you any more, I'm going to show you the greatest thing your eyes have ever beheld. He was a king and a god in the world he knew, but now he comes to civilization merely a captive - a show to gratify your curiosity. Ladies and gentlemen, look at Kong, the Eighth Wonder of the World." _

Rosalie sat transfixed. Around her, whispers fluttered in the crowd.

_"Don't be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen. Those chains are made of chrome steel."_

As the giant gorilla broke through his restraints, the screams onscreen mingled with the screams of the audience. Rosalie felt the now familiar ache behind her eyes where her tears crystallized, never falling, frozen always. As cars and men ran after Kong, the monster searched for Ann Darrow and Rosalie felt a strange anger. _He only wanted to be with Ann, only wanted to see her, to protect her…was that so wrong? Why were some creatures more deserving of happiness than others? _

As the airplanes circled over the Empire State Building, Rosalie cast her eyes down into her lap. She didn't want to see anymore. Around her, the gasps of the glittering crowd continued. Ann Darrow continued to scream and struggle and Rosalie clenched her teeth. _Why did it bother her so much? He loved her. Why couldn't she love him back?_

She turned her head and her eyes met Edward's, the sound of the airplanes buzzing as the music swelled. Edward glanced back at the screen. The gorilla tumbled off the skyscraper and hurtled toward the ground. Rosalie grabbed Edward's arm, her face stricken.

"Oh, no…" she whispered.

_"The airplanes got him."_

_"Oh, no. It wasn't the airplane,"_ the showman on the screen said, staring at the fallen animal. _"It was Beauty killed the Beast."_

The music swelled again and the curtain fell on the scripted letters: _THE END_.

Loud applause surrounded them.

Rosalie looked at Edward again and he seemed to be making up his mind about something. Suddenly, he was on his feet and pulling her with him through the row of scarlet seats and towards the smoking rooms on the east end of the lobby.

"What's wrong? Where are we going?" Rosalie hissed, trying to tug herself out of his firm grip.

The three ushers they passed watched them curiously but said nothing.

Once alone in the farthest parlor, Edward spun and pushed her against the wall, his golden eyes blazing with indecision.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"You are beautiful," he spat. "You are exquisite and refined and educated and like me, you don't want this life."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, shoving against him.

"So why shouldn't I love you?" he went on, brazenly. "Why shouldn't I? Why _shouldn't _I?" He shook her.

"Edward…" Rosalie's mouth opened in surprise.

"What is so _wrong_ with being happy?" he said, clenching and unclenching his teeth.

Rosalie wondered if he had finally become unhinged. "What are you sa—…"

"And I have _been_ unhappy, Rosalie," he said, pointing a finger at her. "I have been sad and alone and in _hell_. So why can't I _love_ you? Why do I feel…_nothing_?" His face was conflicted as he watched her.

"Maybe…" she started and stopped.

"Maybe what?" he pressed, fervently."Maybe _what_?"

"Maybe this is what it feels like," Rosalie said, slowly. "You've been alone so long…maybe this is how it feels to love someone." She frowned at the thought.  
"This?" he repeated. "This is how it feels?"

She nodded, half-heartedly.

"Insufferable nausea and rage?" he asked. He spoke sarcastically but his eyes were torn.

Rosalie considered his words and lost expression. She pressed her lips together in thought and lifted an uncertain hand to his cool cheek. "I think," she said, finally, her voice shaking. "If we have to guess, this can't be it."

Edward nodded and pulled her hand from his face. They stood staring at one another for several long moments. Rosalie moved away from him, walking towards a small sofa near the door.

"Besides," she sniffed, breaking the silence and lighting a cigarette she had taken from a side table. She took a drag and blew out the corner of her mouth. Mae West had done that in a film once. "You are far too irritating to make anyone a suitable husband."

"I'm sure," he agreed, glancing up as a group of gentlemen entered with cigars. He watched, amused, as Rosalie attempted to blow a ring of smoke into the air. He snickered and smiled a crooked smile.

She glared and smacked him with her beaded clutch. "Don't laugh at me!"

"Come along, Miss West," Edward said, dryly, holding the door open.

Rosalie tossed her head as she exited the room, quoting, _"When I'm good, I'm very good. When I'm bad, I'm better."_

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_**Epilogue to come…**_

_**Author's Note: Looking forward to hearing what you think. If you've been reading and haven't left a review, I hope you'll leave one now. Thanks!**_

_**Research notes: The actual premier of King Kong took place on March 2 or 3 in 1933 at the Radio City Music Hall in New York City. The timeframe has been changed by approximately two months for the purposes of this narrative. A movie ticket cost 51 cents. Carlisle's car is a 1933 Buick Model 68 Victoria Coupe. **_**The Bitter Tea of General Yen**_** was the first film to premiere at Radio City in January of 1933. Smoking rooms really did exist in movie palaces, although smoking was fairly acceptable in almost any public place, regardless. **_


	6. EPILOGUE

_**Disclaimer:**__** The Twilight series is the creative property of Stephenie Meyer. I do not own any of the characters. Any references or quotes from Meyer do not belong to me. This is a fan-based story. The basis of this comes from Rosalie's story in **_**Eclipse. **_**No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Notes on Research: Let me just say that after researching for this particular chapter, I have absolutely zero interest in meeting a bear. Ever. If you want to completely gross yourself out, google 'grizzly bear attacks.' But seriously…don't. The Great Smoky Mountain National Park opened in 1934.**_

_**Author's Note: A big thank-you to everyone who has been reading this story! It's been so much fun to write and I hope you've enjoyed reading. I have a longer fic that I plan to start soon called, "Hush-A-Bye, Baby." If you're interested, you can put me on alert or you keep your eye out for it! **_

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_If only I don't bend and break  
I'll meet you on the other side  
I'll meet you in the light  
If only I don't suffocate  
I'll meet you in the morning when you wake_

_I'll meet you on the other side  
I'll meet you in the light…_

_-Keane_

EPILOGUE

_Spring of 1935, Smoky Mountains, Tennessee_

Rosalie breathed in deeply of the pine forest air, her red mouth twisting in self-satisfaction. It was the farthest she had come in this direction, alone, at least. Nearly seven hundred miles, she guessed, dropping from a high branch to the dark forest floor. Through the gloom of early morning fog, edges of light were just beginning to appear. Like twilight in reverse.

The familiar sound of warm blood pumping made her muscles tense. She inhaled carefully. With the new nature park so close, humans could be nearby. The smell was confusing. It was definitely an animal, something large, predatory…definitely a meat-eater. But there was a different scent, sweeter, more exposed. Rosalie fought against the now familiar burning in her throat. _That_ was _not_ an animal. Automatically now, she stopped breathing and focused on controlling herself. Small movements, small thoughts. She tried desperately not to imagine what must be waiting down in the ravine. _Some wounded human, probably cornered by a mountain lion. Someone who would die, anyway. No, she must not think things like that._ It only made the burning more unbearable. _And she could not feed. She would not feed._ Suddenly the smoky morning air seemed ominous, not crisp and inviting as it had been before.

With every ounce of strength she possessed, Rosalie turned away from the mouthwatering scent and forced herself to run in the opposite direction. If she focused only on the ground ahead of her, at the curving branches reaching down to meet her as she flew by them, she might be far enough away before she lost her willpower.

But just as relief poured over, a weak, strangled cry came from behind her, stopping her in her tracks. She stood, frozen, afraid to turn around and face the noise and the smell. For a moment all was quiet and still and Rosalie wondered if she had dreamt the sound into existence. Another second and the cry came again, a little stronger, a little more insistent.

In agony, Rosalie turned and started slowly towards the edge of the precipice, her hands clenched in fists. Whoever he or she was down there…they might not live through this. But she couldn't ignore the noise or the smell or the sadness in knowing they were alone and dying.

She would stop the animal, chase it off, kill it, whatever. And then she would run, as fast as her legs could carry her and hope against hope that she could escape the temptation. It was foolish to attempt and still she walked forward, picking her way through the heavy undergrowth, nearing a faint trickling of water that became a stream only a few miles south.

There was a heavy panting and a soft, whimpering noise. She could hear the beast now, baying, snarling, its thick snout raised in a triumphant roar. The bear stood on all fours, its back to her.

Coiling to spring, Rosalie set her shoulders and leapt. She threw her arms around the creature's enormous neck. The grizzly growled in surprise and reached a large, clumsy paw out to bat her off.

Hissing, she sank her teeth deep into its neck.

The bear yelped and stumbled once.

Rosalie clung to the animal, keeping her mouth firmly at its jugular vein, half in hopes of killing it and half to keep herself from focusing too much on the stronger scent, the free flowing blood of the human. She wrapped a slender arm around the bear's throat and pulled it into the crook of her elbow, squeezing as hard as she could.

It roared again, furiously, and shook her off.

Rosalie flew through the air, her body making a loud cracking sound against an old oak tree. She landed and crouched, baring her teeth at the bear before jumping again and throwing it to the ground. She found herself face to face with the largest set of teeth she had ever seen, foaming saliva dripping from the corners of its mouth.

For the tiniest second, she wondered if she should feel afraid. Vampires were undoubtedly strong but this… She had never hunted anything quite so large before.

The grizzly bear snapped viciously. Its breath smelt of blood and decay. She wrinkled her nose and putting both hands around the bear's neck, she pushed with all of her strength.

The bear made a gurgling noise, pawing frantically at her granite face. Its claws didn't leave a scratch. The animal jerked twice more and lay still.

Rosalie sat frozen for a minute, terrified of moving. Careful not to breathe, she turned her golden head to the gasping form, lying prostrate a hundred yards away.

_Run,_ the little voice inside told her. _Run and maybe…just maybe he'll have a chance._

But Rosalie was sure he would not survive this, regardless. Even from a distance, she could see the extent of the damage. It was horrific. From where she sat, straddling the dead bear, she could see his right leg had been completely mauled, all of the flesh torn from the bone. His entire body convulsed with the shock of it.

_He's going to die anyway,_ the voice went on. _There's nothing you can do. Run. Don't disappoint your family_. She thought of Carlisle and Esme and Edward. _What would they do in her place?_

An inaudible moan came from the dying man and Rosalie was overcome with pity. Gritting her teeth and willing herself not to breathe in the glorious scent, she stood and walked towards him.

As she grew close, she felt the grass squish beneath her feet and saw she had stepped in a pool of the man's blood. Kneeling uncertainly, Rosalie lifted trembling hands to turn his head towards her. Miraculously, his face had remained untouched by the bear's angry claws.

Rosalie fell open in surprise. A fuzzy memory suddenly bright as a flashbulb…_Vera and Tommy and...and little baby Henry, his dimpled, freckled cheeks, the velvet brown of his eyes, the soft curl of his downy hair._ Rosalie took a sharp intake of air and instantly regretted it. The smell of the man's blood hit her fully in the face and she bit down on the inside of her cheek.

She was wishing desperately that she had not come back when she felt a hand squeeze around her own. Startled, she looked down to see his shaking fingers wrapped around her own icy, porcelain ones.

"Are…" the man whispered, his voice barely audible. "Are you…my angel?"

Rosalie stared straight into his beautiful, chocolate eyes and knew she could never leave this man here alone in the forest to die.

He coughed and licked his lips once before saying with some effort, "I…always hoped they'd send a pretty one for me. When it was time…"

"Sshhh," she whispered, putting a finger to his lips. "I'm…I'm here now."

The man, a hunter by his garb, reached his hand up to brush a stray curl from Rosalie's face. "It…won't be long now…will it?" he asked, wincing. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and temple.

Rosalie studied him for another moment and, without thinking, nodded, "No, it won't be long." Another moment and he was in her arms. She began to run.

The trees blurred by and the man smiled, a little wistfully. "Are we flying? Fly me up to heaven, angel." His fingers brushed her cheek again and then fell back against his chest.

"What's your name?" Rosalie murmured, gathering another burst of speed.

"Emmett," he whispered. "My name is Emmett."

THE END

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_**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone for reading! I hope you'll leave a review and tell me what you think of the end. Any other thoughts, story suggestions, etc. are welcome! New story coming soon! Feel free to put me on author alert if you'd like to stay updated!**_


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